


Wolf

by TheSpaceCoyote



Series: Mob AU [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha!Jack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Omega!Rhys, Russian Jack, a Jack unusually okay with serving someone instead of the other way around, bodyguard jack, mob boss Rhys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: "There’s always a shy lethality in Rhys’ posture, whether he’s doing business or he’s alone with Jack. Even when he’s draped about his bed or pinned to the velvet couch beneath Jack’s hips, the bodyguard is always aware of the catlike gleam in Rhys’ eyes whenever Jack bites too hard or pinches his hips or otherwise steps out of line. Jack’s no fool, so he kisses the excess bruises and marks and licks them, compliant."————Rhys is a newly minted mob boss, maturing under the watchful eye of his bodyguard.





	Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this mob AU for some months now and am finally uploading it to Ao3 :) I hope you guys enjoy!

Rhys is so  _new_ —new in money, new in power, new in  _body_  that it makes Jack’s breath short in his throat.

Jack, who has cut his teeth on some many men, old and blubbery and armed only with years of loyalty and manipulation to innervate arthritic muscles usually clenched around pen or pipe rather than gun or knife—Jack who has killed more than his far share of arrogant upstarts as superficially fresh-faced as Rhys—sees something  _more_  that he hasn’t seen in a long time in the young omega.

And it’s  _exhilarating_  to watch.

It’s been only a few scant months since Rhys’ father, Jack’s former boss, met his end in a busy train station with hundreds of witnesses but somehow, no leads. Rhys could have very easily been swept under the carpet of the ensuing power struggle, or killed, or  _worse_  considering his omega status, if not for Jack and his pistol stepping in the path of the bullets fixed on the back of Rhys’ head.

“If you don’t step up, зайчик, they’re going to kill you.” Jack had murmured, his hand heavy on the back of Rhys’ neck one night in the boy’s new office. The carpet is mustard yellow and stained with old spots of blood, the desk cleared of any personal affects, blank and lacquered and shining in the lamplight. Jack had felt the moment that the trembling of the boy in his too big suit and too big chair had stiffened, resolve hard as chips of ice in Rhys’ eyes as the omega looked up at him.

“All right. Let them come.”

* * *

Rhys has grown soft on daddy’s money, but Jack’s ready to grasp him in both hands and press him down into something hardened and shaped in a perfect model of himself.

The young omega is already well on his way, after all. His voice may waver slightly in his first official meeting with the other family bosses of the city but it still holds, high and clear like a ceaseless music note, commanding attention from the old alphas who’s sneers gradually fade from their faces as they breath in Rhys’ resolve and let it settle like ozone in their lungs. His hand may shake on the barrel of a gun but Jack is always there, always melded to his side like a second skin as he steadies Rhys’ aim faster than the omega can blink his eyes. He may blush, bashful whenever Jack slides a protective arm around the omega’s slim waist, but when they are alone in the bed flushed with Rhys’ scent he pushes Jack down against the sky-blue comforter and rolls his hips against his bodyguard’s own.

There’s always a shy lethality in Rhys’ posture, whether he’s doing business or he’s alone with Jack. Even when he’s draped about his bed or pinned to the velvet couch beneath Jack’s hips, the bodyguard is always aware of the catlike gleam in Rhys’ eyes whenever Jack bites too hard or pinches his hips or otherwise steps out of line. Jack’s no fool, so he kisses the excess bruises and marks and licks them, compliant.

“What does it mean?” Rhys asks, one night as Jack lays spooned up besides him, absently nuzzling against the blue tattoos inked into the young omega’s shoulder. He shudders as Jack palms his hand downwards against Rhys’ belly, feeling it flutter with ticklish twitches as Rhys gasps, grasping Jack’s wrist.

“N-Nuh-uh, don’t you…a-answer me first…” Rhys hisses, turning his head over his shoulder to look at Jack’s faux-innocent expression.

“What does what mean, зайчик?”

“ _That_ ,” Rhys squirms, letting out a little mewl as Jack’s knot tugs against his entrance, “what does that mean? You keep calling me that.”

“It means fearless leader.” Jack mumbles sleepily, only to earn himself a swat to the forehead.

“ _No,_  it doesn’t, I know it doesn’t.”

“Didn’t know you were proficient in Russian…”

“I’m not. But I know it’s not that.” The omega grouses as he wiggles back, pressing Jack’s chest and stomach up to the curve of his spine. Jack shifts closer, hand running up to clasp over were Rhys’ is curled up against his chest.

“You don’t like it?”

Rhys sniffs, nuzzling into his pillow.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

* * *

Jack’s body is littered with scars.

He’s grown tanner since arriving in America. The puckered lines of old wounds now stand out against his browning skin, pulling at the thick flesh as he stretches his bare body out above Rhys, marveling at the contrast between them.

Rhys is still so untouched, so smooth and free from any marks that Jack has not left himself, marks that still fade in time, marks that he doesn’t have license to make permanent yet.

He hopes he protects Rhys well enough to still be the one to give him his first scar.

* * *

Jack’s standing on the balcony outside of Rhys’ room one night, looking out over the street below, covered in stamped, dirty snow and lit by low-hanging, sepia lights. He smashes the last of the dying cigarette against the cool steel banister, flicking the remains off onto the cement below as he breaths the last of the drifting smoke from between his teeth.

Rhys is dining with some local affluent businessmen tonight, men eager to curry the deadly omega’s favor and influence to protect their interests. Jack would much rather stay at home and cook soup for Rhys and spend the night wrapped up in each other’s arms, but duty called and Jack would not dare let Rhys leave with any lesser entourage.

He debates lighting another cigarette, when he hears the doors click open behind him.

“волчонок.“

Hearing his own tongue on Rhys’ lips sends lightning up Jack’s spine, and he turns about, undone coat fanning out around him to see Rhys, dressed in a slim, Italian cut suit with his hair slicked back and hands wrapped up in his favorite leather gloves. One of his hands is balled up into a fist, and he looks like air isn’t coming in fast enough, his cheeks pink in the slight chill.

“I….I have a present for you.”

Jack wills himself to keep still as Rhys approaches, the young omega’s boots scraping against the balcony as he comes to a halt in front of the bodyguard. Jack can see the way Rhys’ chest tightens rapidly with his breath as he reaches out with his free hand, lifting Jack’s wrist up as he slowly uncurls his clenched fist.

Not that Jack blames him. He can feel own his heart pounding in his chest as Rhys touches his hand, the slide of the omega’s leather gloves making the hair on the back of Jack’s neck stand up as Rhys slips a simple golden band onto his ring finger.

Jack examines the ring with a slight surprised raise of his brow. It’s flawless, glowing in the light of the stars and the streetlights below, completely smooth of any engraving.

Because there’s no need. Jack knows exactly what this means.

Rhys’ breath is warm against his neck as the omega presses closer, his sweet scent crisp like a freshly bitten fruit in the cool of the night air.

“If…if you ever leave my side, I’ll remove the ring and the rest of your finger with it.” Rhys whispers, stroking Jack’s scarred knuckles with the cool rub of his gloves as he pulls away, reluctant to put any space between them.

“That’s a pretty light price for betraying your loyalty,” Jack murmurs, reaching up to kiss his ring, breath fogging against the glinting metal. Rhys smiles, affection naked on his lips as their hands join, fingers slotting together as Jack melds back against Rhys’ side, following the omega down to the car, the weight of his promise hanging heavy between their palms.


End file.
